Your night was being ironically peaceful, even though there was a storm outside. You had turned on volume of the speaker on the TV, trying to distract yourself from the violent pouring of the endless rain outside.

Along with all the sounds, the next thing you heard was an impatient knock on your door. As soon as you opened it, Harry was standing there, looking into your eyes while his fingers ran through his soaking wet hair.

You had been friends for a while now. And you had always been there: you had seen his best moments, you listened everytime he complained about his popularity and the exhaustion that came with it.

As he stands by the doorway in drenched clothes, doesn't really give you a moment to ask questions. Instead, he storms inside your apartment, slamming the door shut, discernibly upset.